


Red Hand

by VenomQuill



Series: Stickmin Collection fics [9]
Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Grooming, Terrence being overthrown, Terrence's leadership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27276982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: Terrence didn't know that he wanted power until it was within the realm of possibility.Reginald always wanted power, but it had never been in the realm of possibility.
Series: Stickmin Collection fics [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983670
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	Red Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Find it on dA: https://www.deviantart.com/venomquill/art/Red-Hand-859785076

Terrence loved his friend, Sir Wilford IV. He was a wonderful guy, if brutish and occasionally holding the temper of an old bull elephant. So, when Chief Jaques wanted Sir Wilford IV removed, Terrence spotted the opportunity and wove together a months-long plan of gentle nudging and feather-ruffling and fanning of embers until a full-blown civil war was on their doorsteps. Sir Wilford IV and Jaques Kensington dueled, and Terrence was pleased to find his friend the winner. Terrence now being his right hand was a plus, he couldn’t deny, but he did like seeing his friend alive.

Now, if one were to ask Chief Wilford about Terrence, he may say something along the lines of “Terrence? He’s a brilliant idiot.” Terrence pretended to take no offense to it, but honestly it hurt worse because sometimes it was true. Terrence was incredible with _learning_ about people, with studying and nudging them and making them do as he pleased, but leading them? Oh, no, Terrence was _not_ good at that. Oh, well. He could lean on Chief Wilford to do the leading for the time being. Terrence was also an adrenaline junky. Oh man, oh man, was he ever the thrill-seeker, addicted to the rush of an escaping criminal clinging to his loot and his life, obsessed with the stories of heroes who make it out of dire situations just a _hair_ before the competition. It was unfortunate Terrence was all but useless in a fight.

Terrence knew when Chief Jaques’ time was up. Unfortunately, Terrence could tell Chief Wilford’s time was starting. Terrence would be there for his friend, of course, but he did notice the man was a little… slower. He was a sharp mind and an even sharper shot, but years of being on the front lines were starting to take its toll. It was around this time they admitted a new face into the Clan; one Terrence had come across himself.

He was as regal as royalty, even scrawny and drenched as he was from the downpour. Terrence had been with another Toppat at the time, checking on some of their London contacts, making sure the Toppat Clan was still a priority. They’d caught the petty thief red-handed–literally. The kid had to have been fresh from high school, or whatever it was called in the UK, and he was already sneaking into places he shouldn’t, covering his hand in scarlet dye from a nice basket of jewels that had been besmirched by a broken shipment of red powder dye.

They’d chased him into the streets, but even the boy knew when he was done, his hand a flare in the dingy gloaming. Terrence had escorted the boy back into the building if to just get out of the storm. Beneath his own umbrella, Terrence wasn’t too wet, neither was his friend. But the boy was _shivering_ ; soaked to the bone in the early spring rain. Still, he controlled his voice as much as he could. He stood and stared at them with a refreshing amount of defiance and dignity.

“And what was your name?” asked Terrence.

“R-Reginald,” stated the boy, fixing his stolen garb, his stained hand spreading the red corruption over the front of his chest. “Copp-pperbottom.”

“Well, Reginald,” Terrence announced. “My name is Terrence. Terrence Suave. You’re a fairly clever young man. What were you doing trying to steal from them while we were here?”

“You weren’t supposed to _be_ here,” Reginald stated, glaring at Terrence as if _he_ was the one in the wrong. “At this time in the day, they’re close to the end of their shifts, not ready to switch but still tired enough to allow me to slip through. I’ve never seen _you_ here before.”

Terrence couldn’t help it. He had to have the adorable little pup. Reginald’s tune changed the farther into their conversation they got–that and after receiving a blanket and soaking in the warm heat inside some more. He took to the Toppat Clan like a nail to a magnet. Within the span of three months, he already acted as if he’d been there for years. It helped Terrence had taken time out of his day to show Reginald the attention he adored and the compliments he absorbed like a sponge and all the know-how he’d need. Terrence found some of himself in the boy, but more than that. Reginald was _hungry._ He wanted more than he had. Even when he got it, it wasn’t enough. Being a recruit was great, but he wanted to be a full member. Membership was good, but he wanted to be part of the planning. Now, part of the planning team was nice, but he wanted to lead.

Terrence found he was balancing his time between feeding the man what he wanted and pulling his leash back to keep him from harming himself. There were a few times when his precious pup bit rather than barked, but those were things Terrence could fix and scold him over later. Even if they weren’t _easy_ fixes, he was willing to do it. In fact, as Reginald got older, Terrence found himself turning back to Chief Wilford. His third-in-line was sick, the third time this year, and it wasn’t getting better any time soon. The chief’s eyes were set on another young man, a year older than Reginald. A mute brute from a small-town gang in the middle of nowhere. Reginald was an elite, but for some reason, he’d never told Terrence he _wanted_ the third-in-line’s place. Well, Terrence chalked it up to being polite. After all, it _is_ rude for anyone–even the chief–to speak poorly of their right hand or third-in-line for something as unfortunate as illness. Well, when the man inevitably bit the dust, Terrence convinced Chief Wilford to allow Reginald to replace him. Replace him he did.

Terrence hadn’t seen the man so shocked before. But it made him happy, and Terrence knew it wouldn’t satiate the man’s need, only make it worse. But a consequence _could_ be independence and his pride might get ahead of himself. So, Terrence would need to remind him of his place–at the very least, his place relative to Terrence.

“You did well,” Terrence observed. “I knew you’d be the best for the job.”

Reginald, already down a glass of wine, looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I put it a good word for you,” Terrence said with a small shrug. “You’re a good man, and Chief Wilford recognized it. You’re a much better leader than your mute friend.”

“Red?” Reginald echoed. “The chief was going to choose Red?”

Terrence leveled his hand. “We talked it over, and he was considering it, definitely. But I managed to point out how well you’ve been doing, and he took to you, didn’t he?”

“Well… yes,” Reginald responded, slowly at first. “Yes. Yes, he did. Thank you, Terrence.”

“Don’t thank me,” Terrence hummed, nudging Reginald with his shoulder. “Thank yourself.”

Admittedly, Terrence may have taken things too far. He showed Reginald the ropes, as any good deputy would, and he taught him about his job as well. That look on his face when he succeeded, that smugness and happiness and pride, was to _die_ for. Terrence would give it to him as much as he wanted. Reginald knew this very well. He had a feeling the man had known for a while. What _Terrence_ wanted from the deal wasn’t too much. He already got an easier job as Reginald took or eased some of his own responsibilities. He stayed acting the part of his perfect little pup, even if he sometimes bit when he should’ve just barked. But at the end of the day, Terrence’s future deputy was an adult and had been for as long as Terrence knew him. His actions were at his own behest and consent.

Chief Wilford died. It was a dark event, one Terrence _should have_ prevented. He knew the man’s years on the front lines had taken their toll, but he stayed in the front. “The best place to lead is next to your people,” Chief Wilford loved to say. One day, years of scars and healing and action and metal had taken their toll. At least it was during a heist, Terrence had mused, watching as an injured bunch of Toppats brought Chief Wilford back with more care and reverence then they had for the jewels stolen at his command.

Chief Terrence was in charge, now.

Chief Terrence didn’t know how much of a… well, what chiefship was really like. It was everything he knew it would be, of course: stressful and full of responsibility. But it was also _fun_. There were times when it was boring as hell, but with him in charge, _he_ could find his thrills, set the okay on certain plans, or reject them. Chief Terrence was in control. He still had his now-right hand, Reginald. He was great at his job and at Chief Terrence’s, as he quickly found. Reginald still had time to be with him, especially now that Chief Terrence was the big boss and calling the shots. Because of this, he let Reginald “talk him into” making Red his third-in-line. Part of Terrence still felt for his old friend, and so it was honestly really nice his little pup had the same desire. A desire Chief Terrence quickly found a shameful distrust over.

Now, Chief Terrence knew he was reckless. He could read the writing on the wall. The Clan was angry with him. They disliked his poor leadership. They seethed as more people were injured with less to gain. Chief Terrence knew that his adorable little pup liked to bite him, but when swamped with work the man was too tired to really even growl at him, much less say no to whatever he was talking about or wanted.

Chief Terrence was a brilliant idiot.

He saw this as he stared down his adorable little pup and found that he wasn’t a pup anymore. He was disheveled and haggard and just recovering from illness and thinner than the first time they’d met. He was drenched and his hand was red, and his hat lay somewhere on the ground. The autumn downpour forced the man’s hair and normally curly mustache flat and lights from the predawn storm and the airship above gleamed in those honey-brown eyes of his. Beside him, injured but standing tall and proud and scowling was Sir Wilford IV–a younger version, one in his prime but with ginger hair and a ginger mustache, following the monster Terrence created.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is fairly darker than most of my original works and all of my fanfictions. I can get dark, but it's always either mentioned or "off-screen." However, I usually keep my toes out of the deep end, preferring my comfort zone of general/13+ content. I like writing the content I read, after all. Now, Reginald is eighteen/nineteen at the time he's picked up by Terrence, who by now is in his late thirties. So I don't quite know if the "grooming" tag is entirely accurate as he's no longer a minor. Please, correct me if I'm wrong.
> 
> Furthermore, this is just a wild headcanon I had eating at my mind for a while. I didn't incorporate it into "Different Path, Different Story" for very obvious reasons, but as a headcanon, it _is_ parallel to "Clouds That Hide the Sun" and "Eccentricities." It's not that I wanted to vilify him more, but as to show off the relationship he had with Reginald that helped, at least in part, make him what he was into the games and the parallels between them. I originally planned to segway the end of this one into Reginald and Henry's relationship. However, I decided to turn it into two different fanfictions.
> 
> (If I missed any tags, please don't be afraid to tell me! I don't know how to tag this!)


End file.
